Extract From “The Farring Papers" (Patreon)

or "A Largely-Disorganized, Still-Unpublished Collection of Data-Packets Featuring Isidor Farring, Formerly and Presently of the Prime Galactic Navy, In Which he Relates Various Experiences to A. Ison, of Same”

The thing about trading blows with one of those Neosaurian chaps is that they tend to overcompensate while they’re using those Tyrant Suits they wear. The being inside is usually a smallish and comparatively delicate humanoid, when you get right down to it. Thanks to their chilly blood, they also love nothing more than conserving energy. Then, when it’s time to fight, they’ve cloaked themselves in what amounts to powered armor, though sometimes they’re still full of nerves and muscle and keratin, too. At that point they think they can do anything.

Yes, for most practical purposes, it is their body. Oh, they’re ‘one’ with it all right, as they’ll tell you endlessly if you give their spiritual types a chance to start. But unless they’ve trained for years, they haven’t got all the muscle memory of anyone who’s big and strong full-time. Fighting takes economy, and they never try going without the massive tails on their war-bodies. Even though anyone can see they turn more slowly with them while on the move, and they’re not meant for bipeds... I ever tell you I saw a Neosaurian Bone-Scale get their outer tail caught in a pressure door? No?

What was I bandying on about? Oh, right: a Neosaurian with a proper two-meter-or-more Tyrant Suit on is a snarling, metal-chased lizard monster, fine. But only on the outside, and the science of a fight isn’t just outside, no. They often misjudge the length of their arms while trying to slash at you, because they don’t realize that’s possible. They can completely lose track of the position of those tails I was talkin’ about. They can also over-commit to any attack at any time, because they don’t expect how much weight will be put behind it.

It would be inaccurate to say I ‘defeated’ the crew of that Saurian shuttle before taking a ride in it. They weren’t just unarmed, they were mis-armed, with equipment they didn’t know as well as I know my fists. I only asked them if they’d care to fight, and in accepting, they really defeated themselves, so how could I be liable?

Well, that was what I told the judge, anyway. She thought it was a riveting tale, and as I was the one who came off with the only claw-marks, and I brought the shuttle backafter the mission, I only wound up on the hook for a cheeky ride in someone else’s spacecraft.

That still earned me a death sentence at the time, but at least she tried to be reasonable, and I appreciated that. Appreciated it through the whole escape! It was a fair cop by the laws of the planet I was on at the time. One should always keep abreast of those things. If I had, it would’ve saved me a great deal of trouble in life.